The Crowning Of The Signless

[etcircenses]

Who| Everyone.
What| The Crowning of The Signless.
Where| An alcove in a nearby mountain.
When| From dusk to dawn, on Thursday.
Warnings/Notes| This event is mandatory for all Tributes to attend. Even if you do not tag in, your character will attend this party. Peacekeepers will be on high alert. There will be no chance to runaway.

Tributes are encouraged to sleep all during the day, before the crowning. The reason for this is revealed when they are roused at sundown and brought to the closest mountain to the city, where they are greeted by an alcove within the moutainside that has been carved into a temple to what may be an illicit faith. The stone alcove is dim-lit by candles arranged along walls and by what appears to be altars set before iron cancer signs, some plain, some inlet with intricate carvings. Bright red drapery hangs about the room, tapestries with the cancer sign and cirles of blending color spectrum. There are also some waist high leggings hung upon one wall. In the center of the room, shackles hang, glowing bright from some sort of internal heat and light. A hole in the ceiling is set on each side of it, to allow the smoke to escape from the great bonfire that roars beneath it. If one takes a seat upon any of large stones and logs aranged around it, they can see both the stars twinkling down and the way the smoke looks as though it is coming off the shackles.

The only windows otherwise are made from stained glass depicting images from the Signless's life, such as his rescue by "Alternia's First Mother" (so described on the metal plate below), "The Recording of His Teachings" depicting The Disciple writing the Signless's words into a book, "A New Follower" showing the Psiioniic joining the Signless, a boat deemed "The First Ship", and "The Execution" which features the death of the Signless before thousands of followers, a fifth troll- resembling Terezi- bearing the shackles as a necklace and another with great brown wings, a single window of Karkat and Kankri Vantas, as well as a sinister depiction of six indistinct shadowy figures of cerulean, blue, indigo, violet, tyrian, and maroon. Cave-style paintings cover the stone walls, styles ranging from simple scribbled etching to circles featuring twelve colors in circle, with bright red at the center, and yet more elaborate shadowy depictions of those in the stained glass, esepcially the Signless himself, both prior and following his execution.

But not all is dedicated to the Signless and his old posse of biblical age trolls. A shrine has been set up for redeemed and then so quickly lost victor, Matthew 'Punchy' O'Conner. Punchy has been painted upon a cave wall like he fits right into the theme. Upon his shrine lay all varieties of bling; Bling-jewelery, a bling goblet, bling boxing gloves, a hoodie, a nun habit, and a stone with a memorial rap engraved atop-- with bling, of course, all shimmering by the spotlights placed before the shrine. Refillable 40 oz bottles are lain out so that sorrowful guests, wishing to pay their respect to the boy so cruelly slain by rebels when he had turned from them, can pour one out in his honor.

Marius is also honored there with a tea light and small framed photograph set upon an empty table with an empty chair, along with souvenir versions of his and Cosette's wedding rings that guests can take home. Beneath all these rings is a photoshopped picture of javert with a single tear running down his manly face.

The only seating besides the stones and logs and Marius's single chair, are those that are sat at a table at the end of the room. Each is draped in a different color, six on each side for each district and each blood hue-- presumably of the Victor's choosing. Between these chairs sits yet one more with a tall back like a flogging jut that got the redesigned at the base to make a throne that some trolls might recognize as belonging to the Empress. The arms of the chair feature open shackles. The throne is decorated in chains of gold and jewels of all colors. The victor is given a crown of gilded flowers and thorns on chain.

Food can be found upon the altars or the victor's table, in surplus. Alternian delicacies are served, featuring insects, flavored or plain, and food made from insects. Guests may find a giant beetle being served upon a spit roast. Even the meats appear to be topped with bugs. The cakes, marshmallows (which can be roasted with stick by the fire!), and orange creamsicles may be the only things truly bug-free. Drink options are water, wine, and soda.

Stylists are encouraged to dress their tributes primarily in black, with a single bit of color put into the design matched according to district (with exception to trolls), or any manner of draping fabrics, cloaks, and costumery reminiscent of religious iconagraphy that one might expect of ancient aliens. Waist high pants and leggings are also in high regard, as well as fake horn, fangs, contacts, and anything to make guests look more trollish. The only rule is for the main colors to match to the blood assignment.

The music playing is the sort one might expect from a church, featuring mournful vocals, soft bells and melodies, and of course, organ music. But for one or two jarring differences. Where this music is coming from remains a mystery but since the space is open and clear, guests have plenty of room for dancing.

Those who don't wish to dance can talk and regale tales around the bonfire, or may instead seek out the book of "scripture" at one of the altars that features nothing more than various parables- with names that Tributes might recognize! Each Tribute has one parable contained within, telling a tale in flourished manner of a part of their life, featuring a pro-capitol moral at the end.

Elsewhere, are models of the flogging just, where guests can put their hands through the oversized cuffs and pretend to writhe in agony, an Alternian bioware helm where guests too can pretend to have their lifeforce and power used a battery for the sake of the Alternian empire, a dress-up station where guests can customize their appearance to match trolls sold into gruelling slavery to seadwellwers, and an area designed to look like a cave with extensive "Alternian" (gibberish) writings of the Signless's words, where guests too can pretend they've lost everyone they love and are carrying on their legacy by writing upon the walls and leaving their own messages of love and mourning. Not to mention, a life-sized drone with realistic piercing claws, for all your picture posing needs.

A sandpit lies just around a corner for children to make castles, dig trenches, and act out games of pretending they've trekked thousands of miles through zombie infested desert just to speak to a couple of people! Guests can also meet a "mutantblood lusus" a four-eyed crab creature with lizardlike structure-- only sized no bigger than the average dog and perhaps about as intelligent. Guests are warned not to put their hand too close, lest the claw pincers manage to pinch them.

Late into the crowning, everyone is brought out to the dark mountainside, well monitored by peacekeepers, and divided into teams. Everyone is given belts with velcro flags attached, colored according to the "blood" they were matched with by district. Those in the eighth, ninth, twelfth, third, tenth, and eleventh districts are deemed the "lowbloods. Those in the first, fourth, second, fifth, sixth, and seventh districts, are deemed the "highbloods". Each team is given a velcro board to attach the flags to. The first team to lose all their flags loses, winners getting tiny necklace copies of the shackles. The last one standing with a flag wins a larger necklace copy and the option to get it redesigned into a symbol of their choosing.

If you failed not to be "culled", fear not! All tributes receive a participation sticker at the end. This sticker features a number. It is not indicative of districts or of age, as will be announced shortly, but of the new scoring. These will be announced for everyone to hear- and pick out targets from.

The crowning officially ends with the coming dawn. And so begins, to everyone's surprise, preparation for the arena. Tributes will be going right from the crowning off to the Tribute launch tubes. Happy Hunger Games!

[Note: This is ICly on Thursday! Just before the arena on Friday!]

Comments

[reassures]

It's not how addiction works at all, and it certainly isn't how coping works, at least as far as what Nill knows of it goes. She's never once known anyone that chose sobriety when their lives were an especially unpleasant kind of hell. That rule rang true even in her own world; where people weren't owned by typical drugs they were surely slaves to their own minor vices. Nicotine, adrenaline, blood lust - it all depended on the person, really, but Nill had yet to know someone without a vice. (Save, perhaps, for Kankri.) But that certainly wasn't close to anything that came out of her own world, and Nill could never really fault anyone for their vices, no matter how sad they might make her. After all, at this point she had a fair number of her own.

Unfortunately Nill doesn't know what his gaze on the glass means, but she takes up the space she'd originally been kneeling in, setting what she managed to find in front of her.

It occurs to her, then, that maybe he's less present than she'd thought he was.

She doesn't have much time to think on it. Linden reaches for what she's brought before she has the time to do so herself, and a moment later he's working on taking off her makeup, not is. Her cheeks go a little pink, but he might not notice that.

She writes on her notepad without actually moving her head, and holds it up for him to see. The writing is larger than normal for the sake of ease, and not as neat since she can't see it, but it's at least concise.

what?

She has no idea what he means by that.

[dead_black_eyes]

Maybe it was true for every world inhabited by humans, or any creature human-like enough within a certain set of parameters. Linden would agree with the sentiment that every creature that feels pain will, inevitably, do their very best to escape that pain, from the fox that chews its own foot off to escape a trap, to the addict enduring the sting of a needle for the peace that follows.

As he rubs off some of her makeup, he is, in fact, able to notice the slight pinkness in her cheeks, and it makes him smile, a twitchy half-grin that goes poorly with the somber and edgy look his stylists have elected for his ensemble.

"I mean your stylists didn't know what they were doing tonight. You're really pretty; most of their work is finished before they even start."

[reassures]

The rarity with which Linden actually smiles, and the fact that the one on his face now is definitely wider than usual, makes Nill's eyes go a little wide. But then again, that could be the compliment as well, because they certainly don't get any smaller.

It might be because he's actually touching her face and saying she's pretty, or maybe the earlier comment about beauty has started to actually sink in. He says she's pretty and her cheeks almost go red with how quickly a full blush creeps onto her face. She still doesn't move her head, but her gaze darts around, and it doesn't return to him until she's written another message and held it up.

are you ok?

She's really starting to think she underestimated his level of sobriety.

[dead_black_eyes]

He dabs at her foundation, and is noticeably gentler than when he was working at his own, to the point where he's having more trouble taking it off. On the plus side, he's not in any danger of rubbing off poor Nill's skin.

His eyes stray when she has a message for him, and he tilts his head, hand slipping slightly against her cheek.

"No..." he laughs lightly. "But that's normal. And I think I actually want to remember this crowning, which isn't normal, but... it is OK."

[reassures]

She doesn't understand the shift - she'd assumed he wasn't aware of how hard he was rubbing his own skin, but if that was the case his gentleness wouldn't make sense. He'd be doing the same to her, but he's not. The extent to how intentional his care is is obvious.

He wants to remember this and Nill is pretty sure he never really wants to remember nights like this. It was part of why he was so far gone at most of them; the sooner he started the quicker he forgot, or so it always seemed.

That... wasn't because of her, was it? It couldn't be. Why would that make any difference?

After a moment to consider his words Nill writes another message, and she lifts one hand to gently touch her fingertips to his cheek, holding the notepad in the other hand.

can I do anything?

[dead_black_eyes]

He feels a little bad interfering with her communication to the extent that he is; it must be difficult to write with a strung-out addict dabbing with varying degrees of effectiveness around one's eyes and nose.

He stares at the latest message like he doesn't quite understand it, and really, he might not. It's a vague offer, too vague for his state of mind, and he's having trouble coming up with specifics.

"I don't know... probably not. Most of the things I want aren't like that."

It's a strange answer, one he's not quite sure makes a lot of sense in the given context. He thought about asking for another glass of wine, but that would push him well into blackout territory, and from there on he'd be a on vacation from himself while his lowered inhibitions wreaked havoc on the people who cared enough to remain close. If he was lucky; if he was unlucky, anything could happen, and he'd be the one dealing with the fallout the next day.

"Just... oh." He's thought of something. "Close your eyes, this stuff really burns when you rub it too close if you're not careful."

[reassures]

She probably shouldn't have expected a more put-together response than that in all honestly. The fact that he's still actually reading what she writes probably says a lot more about the fact that he likes her and is still willing to try to put the effort in even while half out of his head rather than an ability to really understand what she's asking him very well. Nill doesn't really understand his response, but she chalks it up to him probably not really understanding the question.

For a moment her hand moves to actually cup his cheek, and she gives him a very small, halfhearted soft of smile, before her hand slides back to herself. There's not much more she can write, and even if she did, what would be the point? She probably can't manage to write with her eyes closed. The smile fades and Nill closes her eyes, which is a lot more than she allows most people. Touching her when she can't see it? God, no. But she trusts Linden, even if he's high off his ass.

He's probably going to be the death of her some day.

[dead_black_eyes]

By now, they're drawing more than a few stares; even if they're off to the side, well out of the way of most foot traffic, it's difficult to ignore the past Victor and current tribute sitting on the floor with a glass of water and wine between them, making quite a lot of the stylists' efforts in vain.

His cheek is warm to her touch, likely due to the likelihood that there is more wine in his veins than blood at this point. Despite his considerable intoxication, his touch remains gentle; he probably senses, at least on some level, that he's being trusted with more than most, and that Nill's eyes closing at his request means something incredibly significant. He takes care as he wipes around her eyelashes, smudging her makeup more than actually cleaning it from her skin.

"Hm. They set it pretty well, I think I'm just making a mess. Sorry."

[reassures]

Nill has always let her stylists do whatever they want for the most part, outside of dealing with her hair. She's no doubt earned enough brownie points to make this a bit more excusable.

Besides, it's not like they won't need to fix her up in a few hours anyway to send her into the Arena. Not that she knows that. Or anyone, really. But she cares about the stylists very little in this regard, and she'll care significantly less tomorrow when all she makes it out of the cornucopia with is beer.

At his apology she actually giggles, lifting a hand to her mouth even though sound doesn't really accompany her laughter anyway. Then she lifts her hands to rub at her eyes, enough so that she can open them, and goes for her notepad again.

it looked a little strange on me to begin with.

[dead_black_eyes]

That gentle bit of laughter catches him off-guard, and he nervously laughs a touch, himself.

"It'd look strange on anyone, don't be so hard on yourself."

He says so after he pulls the napkin away, allowing her access to her eyes. They are highly smudged at this point; it looks like she's been sobbing her eyes out.

"That looks... still good," he lies, poorly.

[reassures]

Her hands definitely have odd glittery-green smudges on them now from the odd eyeshadow that her stylists were trying to pull off. They would have been better off using a different tribute for it. There was some girl on her floor-- Elsa? They'd never spoken, bit Nill's seen her around. It definitely would have worked better on her. Nill doesn't seem terribly bothered by how smudged the make up is however, and she takes a moment to rub where her skin is still wet. The smile she settles on him is small and warm, and terribly fond.

(And, you know, a little concerned. But that often tends to be a given when it comes to Linden, and right now it's a very mild concern, the sort that lets her know she should probably get rid of that glass of wine at some point.)

do you still want help with yours?

[dead_black_eyes]

It's a good thing Nill isn't miffed by the state of her makeup, because there's no fixing it without washing it off completely and starting over. Her stylists won't be pleased with her, or Linden, but to be fair... with the arena start coming up so soon, he might be unwittingly saving them a bit of trouble.

That smile cuts through him like light through fog, and he has to look away until he's being shown another written message.

He glances up with eyes that look even darker and more hollow with the makeup he's wearing, giving a few brisk nods in response. "Yeah, could you?"

[reassures]

If Oceana gives her shit about it Nill will guilt her for not sending her cigarettes in the Arena as needed, or just use the general no-one-told-me-there-would-be-another-arena-after-this excuse, which is perhaps more justified, even if it would be more understandable to tributes rather than capitolites. Though it's not as if she often makes too much of a fuss about these things anyway. She's really done a decent enough job at staying on her stylist's good side.

Nill's smile doesn't change in the slightest; it's still careful and warm and concerned, but it widens just slightly and gives him a thumbs up, taking the napkin. She uses a corner to rub at some of the makeup on her own face before folding it over to dip a clean bit in the water.

She doesn't start cleaning his face immediately, and instead lifts hand to cup one of his cheeks, head tilted just slightly to the side, waiting mostly to see if he's uncomfortable, and if he minds her touching his face with both her hands. He can still decide against it if he wants to. She certainly won't push it.

[dead_black_eyes]

Even though he told her it was OK, even asked her to help, he still seems startled when her hand touches his face. His eyes flick back and forth for a moment, glassy and hunted, before fixing back on her. He relaxes noticeably when he has put everything together and shifted his line of thinking back to where he is and who he's with; he's even comforted, knowing that she's there and helping him so patiently and gently.

"Thanks for reminding me I'm still here..." he jokes, the attempt pitiful and slightly broken, but totally genuine.

[reassures]

Yeah, definitely getting rid of the alcohol when she has the chance. The way his eyes dart back and forth is very reminiscent of the evening before the last Arena started, and while she's entirely certain this is nowhere near as bad she'd still rather keep an eye on him. If he didn't want to go back to 6 she could just take him to 9 again. That way she'd know if anyone sketchy looking tried to find him, since she knows the faces of all her district mates. Hopefully the crowning would end before he forgot where he was again, but if it didn't at least he seemed to recognize her regardless.

The joke is met with the same smile as before, though it's faded slightly, shifting a little closer to the worried and slightly sad end rather than the careful one. At least's still warm. But he's more present now, and so Nill sets to work at trying to clean up his makeup. She's as gentle about it as he was, though unlike Linden she's actually kinda succeeding at getting the stuff off.

[dead_black_eyes]

His stylists, as is typically for them, have really caked on Linden's makeup; under it, his skin is translucent, the color of bleached bone. Even in the Capitol, where there's often a sick fascination with death and those near it, it's a hue too uncomfortably honest to look at directly; better to turn him into a stark caricature of cold severity rather than face the less glamorous aspects of addiction and self-abandonment. As the layers of foundation and the darkness around his eyes are cleaned up, the illusion of an intimidating, vengeful ghost is soothed. Rubbing away the painted character that the Capitol is familiar and enamoured with has the result of revealing a plain, pale, tired face that belongs to nothing more than a brittle survivor.

"This isn't something you have to do..." he says, as though suddenly aware of their situation and the glances of passerby. "Escorts, stylists and Avoxes all exist to take care of messes... you were enjoying yourself before I showed up and stuck you with a mess, and now I feel guilty."

[reassures]

Given just how much there is she probably won't be able to get it all off completely without some warm water and soap, but it won't exactly stop her from trying.

There's something to be said, however, for the contrast. Nill has never known Linden to not be a wreck of himself, or whatever he used to be. Care about him though she might that's her baseline, the norm in her eyes, and she doesn't hold it against him. How could she? His own wreck is just a lot less visible than hers; while he has bruises on the inside of his arms and skin that looks ready to slip off him, Nill has little scars all over her hands, fingerprints on her skin, distrust in most things except this. She doesn't get people like Gary anymore, who are constantly happy no matter what. This is what she understands now.

This is a lower dip than usual, but still not too far from what she's accustomed to. Because of that it's a little jarring, seeing the color of his skin go from just cold to the normal ill that it always looks. It shouldn't be of course, because somewhere along the line everyone was a healthy individual, but it's hard to equate with Linden. She's seen pictures of him painted like this, but it's different in person. It's more painful than usual to see an actual physical representation of what he's done to himself, unintentional as it may have been.

She still smiles at him but it's considerably closer to the somber side of things now. She takes a moment to finish a particularly stubborn patch of foundation before reaching for her notepad, though she keeps one hand on his cheek. The page ends up smudged with the makeup from her hands.

everyone is a mess.
if I didn't want to be here with you I would leave.

[dead_black_eyes]

He weathers her attempts gamely; he can barely feel his skin as it is, and even a rougher, more determined touch is unlikely to register.

"I'm so sorry..." he says. "But you're going to leave. You won't have a choice, after the Crowning, and I'm... so sorry for that. But thank you for spending the time you have with me."

[reassures]

For just a few, very brief seconds Nill's brown furrows into a frown, unsure of how to interpret what he means. It doesn't last long. So far the only ways she could spend time with Linden were in the Capitol, and if she was leaving, then...

After the party there must have been an arena.

Even so, it's probably not the kind of information he should be giving out, even if she's wrong about what it means. For a few moments Nill looks out at the giant crowning around them. If she was right she couldn't help any of them.

Instead of dwelling however Nill seems to debate for just a few seconds before she holds the notepad up again.

I would rather be here.
it might be a long time before I see you again.

[dead_black_eyes]

He can't in fact say more about it, not in very good conscience or without a significant amount of negative fallout. It's essentially the boldest hint he dares to give her, after finding out this morning from Stephen while nursing a hideous hangover. His eyes wander toward her notepad again, focusing on the written words.

"Yes, it might be," he agrees with a heavy sigh. "I wish we had more time. I wish there was more we could do. I'll... try to help you, though. I'm not actually terrible at my job."

[reassures]

I know.
keep an eye on Karkat and Clementine.

Requesting help for the children over herself, most likely, not a great deal of surprise anymore. Nill considers the page for a moment, before adding just a little more to the bottom.

I'll come find you when I'm not busy.

[dead_black_eyes]

He laughs; he likes it because it's what she always says, so reliably here that he can't dislike it. He dislikes it because although he shares her desire to keep the younger Tributes safe, he wants to keep her safe, too. Fed and warm and armed, even though they have both acknowledged that she is too kind and gentle to ever be a Victor. Even after The Signless won an Arena, Linden knows that Nill is loving, and that she probably couldn't kill someone she loved... even if they tried to kill her, first.

In that way, they're perhaps irreconcilably different. When the canon booms and announcing the beginning of the next arena, his body will be in the Capitol, but his mind will be flung wide, and that very sentiment will probably the entire reason for it.

"I'll try to be easy to find. I'll watch every day," he promises. "And I'll do what I can, and I'll make sure that sponsors know the potential of my favorite Tributes. And yours," he allows.

[reassures]

If for any reason Nill actually had to hurt someone that she cared about it would probably break her. For all the awful shit she has done and caused inflicting the fatal blow was rare, reserved for situations in which no other option was available, or when they damn well deserved it. (The ones that deserved it don't keep her up at night.) In a place like the Arena, where she knows most of the names and faces, Nill would much rather be killed than hurt someone else, unless they hurt someone she loved.

thank you.
don't push yourself too much.
will you remember to eat?

Nill's not altogether certain of whether or not he actually eats much when she's not making sure he does so, and even then she tries not to do it so often that he might come to resent it. Every other day or so, give or take, and when he's sober enough to actually want the food. But if she's going to be gone for a bit it's probably for the best to give him reminders. Hopefully it's not too conspicuous a thing to write.

She'd have to figure out how to go about that in the Arena - it's much too late to try to seek another mentor out to request favors, especially when she's not supposed to actually know there's an Arena in the morning. It might need to wait until the next time, but at least the district six escort will probably be around. Hopefully he'd be able to make sure Linden was relatively okay.

[dead_black_eyes]

Nill is highly transparent that way. It's a terrible thing to be when an entire bloodthirsty Capitol city is watching out for transparency, cracks, anything to indicate weakness or vulnerability. They're windows to humanity, after all, and so many citizens have forgotten what that looks like so thoroughly that they clamor for chances to see anything resembling it, even at a distance.

He laughs slightly when he sees what she's written. She's getting to know him pretty well, which makes him bristle inwardly, but she hasn't run away, so... that's good? Or maybe he's trapping and choking her gentle spirit with his infantile needs and selfish addictions. He has a feeling that she would never say if that was the case, but her eyes tend to be good indicators of the truth, and it's a vulnerability she has that he exploits shamelessly.

"I'll do my best. And if my best was enough to win the Hunger Games once, then it can't be that shoddy, can it?"

An attempt at playfulness, now that his caked-on foundation and artificially darkened eye sockets are letting some of his sincerity shine through. He swallows, on-edge, realizing that he's broken a rule by telling her, even if it's too soon to matter. But she's the only Tribute he's told, the only one he will tell. As sins go, it's a mild and understandable one, and as a Victor, he is permitted the occasional sin.

"...Do your best, as well."

[reassures]

Nill would never, under any circumstance, let Linden take the fall for something like that. Even if it were to happen while she was gone she would find a way to get him out of trouble - tell any lie, make it sound like manipulation on her part. Anything. He's not going to suffer just because he cares about her. It would be one of the last things in the world she ever allowed. She'd rather die (again).

it's not shoddy at all.

For as much as Linden struggles, Nill has faith in him. Even if it's more difficult than it should be there's a lot to be said about his efforts, and she's so far taken the frequency of his smiles as a good sign. There have been much more of them recently than when she first met him - ones that are actually genuine, too. Right now is a rough point, but he's still doing so much better.

I will. I promise.

Nill still has no intention of winning a game, but she can still do better in Arenas. Keep herself relatively safe, watch out for others. Not sink into the miserable husk of a person she was at the end of the last Arena before she ran into Karkat. It had been stupid, a mistake, but the last Arena was too much for her on a lot of levels.

She'd have to drink more water before the crowning was over, find something to eat if they had anything not made of meat or bugs, but that could wait for a little while longer. Nill picks up the small bag she was given and fishes out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. She puts one between her lips and lights it automatically, before holding the pack towards him in offering. Drinking would honestly be an awful idea fir the moment, but there was no reason she couldn't smoke before the night was over. It wasn't like she could get cigarettes in arenas.